


static edge

by rhymeswithpi



Series: limit break [25]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Everything Hurts, Headcanon, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Introspection, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, Touch Aversion, iggy is a bit of a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12046866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/pseuds/rhymeswithpi
Summary: If he tries, he can almost believe the lights are just off. If he falls asleep, he might just wake up in his flat back in Insomnia.It’s a nice lie, but that’s all it can ever be.





	static edge

It’s quiet, finally, nothing but the creaking of wind outside the train. The clattering on the other side of the wall has stopped, and he can only assume that Noct and Prompto have finally finished doing the ‘laundry’. It likely needs to be redone, he knows, but the effort isn’t meaningless. It’s one more thing he’s going to have to relearn, once they’ve left the Empire behind again.

He’d hoped, on some level, that this would just be a temporary setback. Maybe his eyes _would_ heal, and he wouldn’t have to fumble to relearn how to do the simplest of tasks, things he’s been doing for so long no one else has ever thought to even attempt them. There had been some hope when the bandages had come off and he’d been able to tell the difference between night and day, even if it was just _barely_ noticeable. He’d kept it to himself, selfishly wrapping his mind in it, this vague dream that his vision would return. It wouldn’t do to give everyone else false hope. Best to save that disappointment all for himself.

Not that it matters now. Regardless of how much he wishes this hadn’t happened, it did. A small sacrifice in the greater battle, but perhaps not as small as he’d let himself believe.

He’d expected people to act differently around him, expected his friends to be unsure whether or not it was okay to offer him a hand up when he stumbled or an elbow to help guide him through crowds. Given how he’s reacted to unexpected touches in the past, that made _sense_.

He wasn’t expecting the way _strangers_ acted around him, the sound of pity in their voices when they think he’s out of earshot. The way they all say “that poor man” like he’s irreparably broken, some damaged _thing_ that should’ve been left behind. Maybe they’re right, in the end, but it’s his decision to stay with his friends - with _Noct_ \- until he knows he can’t continue. He’s earned that, if nothing else, as selfish as it may be. Even broken things can still have their uses.

He’s tried so many times to simply tell them what happened, how he ended up in this state, but the words catch in his throat with every attempt. Panic fogs his mind, pain explodes behind his useless left eye all over again, his lungs fail to work the way they should. They’d stopped asking after the first time.

No one will tell him just how bad the scarring is. He’s felt around it, traced the edges with careful fingers, but no one will _say_ it, tell him just how it looks. Not that he’s exactly sure how to broach the subject, honestly. There’s no part of his education that ever prepared him to ask someone to do something like this, no precedent or rules of propriety for asking how badly disfigured he is. Nothing from his training could have prepared him for losing his sight.

Every other mark on his skin has been carefully examined, documented in a quiet section of his mind, reminders of what he has endured, can endure, _will_ endure in the name of the Crown. Nothing to be proud of, no honour in the scar tissue marring his flesh, only the knowledge that he has survived _so much_ and he can survive so much more. They’re known quantities, things he understands, so irrevocably a part of him that _not_ knowing how the newest additions look is eating away at him, picking apart his ability to keep everything under control. It would’ve been far kinder if he’d just died in Altissia.

There’s no time for such thoughts, though. There’s never time, not when they’re hurtling toward what is probably all of their deaths. It’s easier to just hide his face under an arm, press closer to the wall. If he tries, he can almost believe the lights are just off. If he falls asleep, he might just wake up in his flat back in Insomnia.

It’s a nice lie, but that’s all it can ever be.

The door splitting the rooms clicks closed, weight settling onto the mattress next to him. Too quiet to be Gladio, too bold to be Prompto. The hand that settles on his shoulder is gentle, barely touching, enough to let him know Noct is there but easy to shrug off if he thinks it’s too much.

It’s always too much lately, but it’s so easy to forget there’s someone _there_ if he brushes it away. Besides, he can’t pretend he hasn’t noticed how fragile Noct has been lately. Noct needs this as much as he does, these moments of quiet with just the two of them _still alive_. It’s enough to make him uncurl from where he’s pressed himself up against the wall, lean back into the touch. Noct’s fingers drift up, carding through the short hairs at the back of his neck. His skin prickles at the contact, shoulders tensing before he can convince himself to relax again.

He could get used to this, honestly, these stolen bits of tenderness. He _wants_ to get used to it, wants to run back to familiar land and just learn how to exist with Noct by his side for the rest of their days. Noct’s weight shifts, stretches out behind him. There’s always this careful distance between them, nothing quite like that bold night at Galdin Quay or those last few hours in Caem. It’s lonely, the inches separating them achingly vast, laced with the knowledge of what they could have had, could have _been_ , if only none of this had happened. If he hadn’t put everything aside for _later_ , knowing full well later wasn’t his to have.

Gods, how he wishes there was a happy ending coming, one that didn’t involve him alone in the end.

He wasn’t even aware he _could_ still cry until Noct is wiping a tear away, thumb brushing carefully on the edge of his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> oh gods i'm sorry i'm _so sorry_


End file.
